Never Been This Close To The Dream
by Enchanted Dreamer
Summary: -ONE SHOT- He told himself that it wouldn't end well—-that he should have been happy with what he got-—but he always wanted just a little bit more when it came to Madeline. Mimi/Kingsley


Title: (Never Been This) Close to the Dream

Author: Enchanted Dreamer

Characters: Kingsley/Mimi

Summary: -ONESHOT- He thought, or to be more precise: hoped, that she'd agree to go to Paris without hesitation. After all, this was Madeline Force—wasn't Paris her Mecca? But she'd said no, refused like he was crazy, and maybe she was right, maybe it was insane to be so mistakenly hopeful. (Mimi/Kingsley)

Rating: M (for sexual content and language)

Disclaimer: I do not own BLUE BLOODS (characters, storyline, anything you can come up with). I also want to specifically address that I do not own the VENATOR'S TALE by Melissa de la Cruz which is the major influence of this one-shot.

-Close to the Dream-

In all honesty, he really had no choice but to show up two hours late, he couldn't exactly let Madeline Force know that the only thing on his mind had been meeting her today. No, that information was much too delicate, and she already had more than enough power over him.

The way she turned towards him as he approached her, with her smooth, tanned legs crossed—the black skirt riding up her thighs; even the menacing glare didn't stop him from delighting in the fact that she sat there waiting for him; Mimi who doesn't wait for anyone—and she told him as much. He smirked, he hadn't started on the right foot with her today—but he was certain it only made her more interested in him, even if she would never admit it.

He knew when he received her text several hours before that she would demand to know everything. As a result, he attempted to prepare himself for her reaction because even if no one knew how enamored with her he was—he was painfully aware of the fact; and her reaction meant more than anyone else's. So, he tried to capture it all, every single detail; the way she didn't pull back when he touched her arm; how she moved in closer when they were speaking without realizing it.

After the night they shared in South America, he was afraid that he might have taken it too far; sure she came to him—but he wasn't a fool to believe that meant he should have slept with her. But when he opened the door and all he had to do was kiss her and she'd be his—even for a moment—he didn't see how he could let the moment pass him by. It reinforced just how drawn to her he was; and always had been.

He wouldn't have admitted it then, or now even (at least aloud), but when he heard of Azrael's distress and refusal to dispose of _the child_, he had volunteered for the mission—not because he wanted the mission; not because he wanted Michael's approval—but because it needed to be done for all of them…for her. Even in Rome he'd have done anything for her, whether she asked it of him or not—no matter what it did to him, and quite possibly anyone else. He would do what Agrippina wouldn't—what she shouldn't have to, because then maybe…just maybe he'd deserve her.

And, eventually, it led to him being here—being able to be with her, even for a moment, even if it was nothing like he'd hoped—because he'd never been this close to the dream before. Even if the dream was a blonde, domineering socialite with a glare that could kill—because God help him, he thought the glare was sexy as hell.

He smiled when she pouted and attempted to leave the table with the sole intention of inducing him to tell her everything. He contemplated telling her to just sit down and behave, but he knew how well she'd respond to that; and that thought alone made him want to laugh. Kingsley, however, managed to resist the temptation because he knew that anything said after this point could change their relationship—and she might never be able to look at him again—but this was Mimi—how could he not give her something she'd asked of him?

"Sit down, I will tell you everything," and he managed to do this without letting her know that it was because, for him, there was no other choice.

He told her everything; how he and Lawrence took the infant, how they…and he couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see her face when she decided he wasn't worth the effort. So, he was careful to bide his time, breathe her in, and pray even though he knew he didn't deserve it.

"Oh, Kingsley," she didn't sound like she hated him, it almost sounded like she was…sad…for him. He felt her hand cover his arm—beckoning him to look at her. It tempted him to look at her, and he did so, slowly, because it might be his last chance to do so.

What he saw hurt him worse than if she rejected him, because she was crying, and then she reached for him, at first touching his face, then leaning into him and wrapping her arms around him. He hesitated at first, before holding her even closer; afraid of how fragile the moment might be.

Her fingers tangled in his hair like they did that night, but instead of consuming passion it was driven by caring and acceptance. Her chin rested on his shoulder, and he felt her breath against his ear as she murmured: "I'm so sorry, baby" repeatedly.

He thought back to that night…the one that until this moment had been his most cherished memory. Everything about it was worth waiting for…but this…her gentleness and compassion meant more to him than anyone could ever know, and helped ease the pain that tore at his soul, because if someone as good and brave as she was could care about him, didn't that mean something?

He was shaken from his thoughts when her soft lips kissed the place where his jaw and neck met, and he froze. Mimi pulled back to look him in the eye, and there was no turning back. He saw the way her eyes flittered over his face, focusing on his eyes and then his lips, before she leaned in and he felt her mouth open slightly when he kissed her back. "Kingsley," she whispered. He rested his forehead against hers, and ignored the jealous expression on the bartender's face—no one else had a chance from the moment he first saw Azrael all those thousands of years ago.

"Come with me," he asked before rising and interlacing his fingers with hers. She nodded, and he led her out of the building; their hands joined as they entered his limo and she sat pressed against his side with his arm around her; and he could pretend she was his girl.

(Later that night)

Mimi was fast asleep on the right side of his bed, but Kingsley was wide awake, afraid that if he closed his eyes—he would open them only to find her gone once again. So, instead he leaned on his side and smiled at her. She was, in a word, **cute**; curled on her side facing him, her hands holding the sheet in small fists, and her blonde hair splayed out behind her. It was a sight he was sure that few, if any got to see, because Madeline Force never allowed herself to be vulnerable; and he cherished it.

He lifted his hand and traced the side of her face; noticed the way she smiled softly in her sleep as he did so. He also felt her shiver slightly, not sure whether it was his touch or if she were cold. He started to sit up, so that he could pull the comforter over them but stopped when he heard her grumble. "Kingsley," she questioned softly, still half-asleep. "Ssh," he moved closer to her and managed to still pull the blanket over them. "I'm still here," and she nodded in response before pillowing her head on his chest.

There was a part of him, a small part of him, that warned him against this, but the romantic in him fought back and delighted in her finding comfort in him; he managed to fall asleep.

(Morning After)

He woke up alone, though it was different from the last time. She was still there, just not in his bed with him, but he found little comfort in that. So, he rallied his courage and held his bravado close.

"What are you doing all the way over there?"

She turned her head quickly, and a normal person would have gotten whiplashed, but not a vampire; not Mimi. "I wanted to get a better look," and she nodded back towards the sunrise. He nodded, but he knew better.

Madeline Force was doubting her choices; was doubting him, and there was no way to shake that off; only cover it up. She couldn't know how in love with her he was, because then she really would have everything; and there'd be nothing left of him when she walked away. Because, in spite of what he liked to imagine: Mimi Force was not his girl.

(Approximately Three Days Later)

Lately it seemed to him like all he did was drink and think about Mimi Force when he wasn't with her—school and Jack being the main things keeping her from him. It felt like Jack was the "other guy," even if it was the other way around, and all he wanted to do was tell Mimi to forget about Abbadon and be with him.

He was sitting at the bar—_their bar_ when he got the text. **Meet me?**__A small smile found its way to his face in spite of what he'd been thinking about, and he tried not to read too much into the text, because even if she wanted him now—it didn't mean she wanted him the most. But, that didn't stop him from responding immediately: **Where?**

She responded just as quickly: **Your place. **

He motioned for the bartender to bring him the check, **Be there in fifteen. **

Kingsley felt like not wasting a single second and running to her, but forced himself to reign his enthusiasm in. But as soon as he arrived at the hotel he forgot all about that. It was like he was automatically programmed to sense her when she was near, because as soon as he walked through the doors of the apartment building, it was like he was on autopilot and before he knew it he was standing in front of her, backing her into a corner.

She didn't push him back or make a quip about how eager he was, because she was just as impatient. She tugged on the collar of his dress shirt, effectively bringing him closer—and somehow they went from kissing in the lobby to her legs being wrapped around his waist as he pressed her against his bedroom door; hands moving with purpose as clothes hit the floor.

(That evening)

The television was on, playing some popular show about rich kids in New York where their lives were dominated by scandal, sex, and stupidity. "Please, as if that is realistic," and he cocked his eyebrow when she turned to face him.

She looked irritated, but nothing out of the common way, "Yes, and vampires are realistic," she said with mocking sarcasm before turning back to face the screen.

He walked around from behind the couch to sit beside her. She didn't stiffen or move away when he placed his arm along the back of the sofa, behind her—but not wrapping around her shoulder. She'd reasoned that if they were having sex, there shouldn't be anything wrong with him being this close to her with their clothes on, but she knew she was lying to herself. She was allowing him an intimacy that she'd never allowed anyone but Jack.

Kingsley, on the other hand, was perfectly aware of just how far they were going. Being here with her…like this, while it might not seem like much compared to what they'd been doing—it was. He was tempting fate because eventually the subject of Jack would come up.—it had to. He'd never forgotten that she was going to be bonded to Jack in a matter of weeks.—days. But, he kept fighting his rational mind, "You hungry?"

Mimi barely turned her head, _eating together_…doing normal things together…she should refuse, but she loved the freedom of being with him—of not having to hide. She was able to be her demanding, bitchy-self—and all he did was smirk, make some sort of retort, and (usually, at least in his own way) obey. It made her…feel understood, something she never felt with anyone; not her parents, or lackeys, or Bliss, or even her twin. So, she told decency to go fuck itself, "What are we having?"

(Next Night)

"Oh, yes, Kingsley…mmmm, yes," she crouched on all fours on the edge of his bed while he stood behind her. His hands dug into the flesh of her waist as he pounded into her. He liked this side of her—the kind that showed up at his door fully intent on ravishing him and had no shame in begging (or in typical Mimi-fashion telling) him to do just what she wanted; what she craved. He was mesmerized by every move and sound she made—the way she moved back into him every time he pulled out; the way her hair fell on her shoulders; and most of all how she would turn to face him when she told him to go harder. Most girls would probably be too shy to blatantly look at him when he was taking her this way; but not her; she was bravery and seduction incarnate without even trying.

He'd had her several times since that night and each time managed to surprise him even more; and he didn't think he would be able to be as satisfied with anyone else. _Anyone else_. He couldn't imagine anyone else—beneath him, above him, against him. When she reached around and placed her hand over his, he knew that, at least right now—he had her—if anyone could "have" Mimi.

He knew the moment she came when her already tight sex clenched around him—holding him inside as if he would dare think of leaving. Her hand tightened over his, and she shuddered at the end.

She didn't object when he pulled her tired body up so that she was kneeling, but automatically followed him with her eyes when he sat on the bed with his back against the headboard, "Come here," and she knew what he wanted. She crawled to him and then straddled his waist, forcing herself down on him.

If he were a forthcoming man, he would admit that this was probably his favorite position, probably because it was a physical representation of the power she had over him—and he had to admit that the view was remarkable because nothing could be more enticing than her bouncing up and down on top of him; almost breathing his name; like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mimi stared down at his face and was once again confronted with the emotions that hid behind those hypnotizing eyes of his. She thought that their tryst was just for fun; a way to alleviate tension—but nothing more than sex. But that didn't explain the constant need to be with him, even if they were just sitting around in his hotel room while he perused files and she was content to watch television until he was ready to get dinner. There was something more to all of this, and she knew it when she was asked by her lackeys to go shopping and she declined—in favor of what?

That was when Kingsley jogged her memory by positioning his hand so that he could rub her clit while she rode him. "Oh," she bit her lip when she slammed down on him and his other shot out to massage her breasts, "You're so good, baby. So good." Her words almost echoed his thoughts; he thought nothing could ever be better.

Until she flexed her muscles around him and started to suck on his neck, "Damn," he groaned into her mass of hair, before pulling it slightly so that he could kiss her on the mouth; something he took advantage of often. She started rotating her hips in an almost figure-eight motion and pulled away from him with one quick kiss on his lips. She reclined backwards slightly, using her hands on his thighs to hold herself up; making it easier for him to start pounding up into her. This was what she rushed back for every time—this "more-than-just-sex" sex.

Her exposed throat, plainly visible, bouncing breasts, and partially open mouth was his undoing. He leaned forward, holding one side of her face in his hand before just barely nicking the skin so that he could taste her blood, "Mimi."

(Next Day)

Kingsley knew the exact moment she was on his floor because something in the air changed; like it felt cleaner or maybe it was just the smell of her perfume that made it better. Sure enough he heard her stilettos hit the marble floor, and the turning of his doorknob when she entered. She set down her purse and jacket on a chair next to the door and walked straight to his computer, checking her e-mail while he entered the living room with his toothbrush in hand. He smiled at the sight of her because he liked the way she made herself comfortable; like being there was natural.

"Learn anything at school today," he smirked because they both knew she knew more than all of her teachers combined.

She rolled her eyes and pushed him out of the doorway so she could go to the refrigerator, "You get more coke?"

He'd followed her into the kitchen, and nodded his head towards her in affirmation. She's mentioned yesterday that he didn't have anymore, and he promised to pick some up for her later. It was one of the moments in which he was struck by the domesticity between them; and how easy it was for them to just be together. He hoped she'd come to her senses about the whole Abbadon issue—that she'd see it too.

Mimi followed him to the computer and sat beside him, "What are you doing?"

"Just looking at some files. New cases are coming up that need to be taken care of. They're looking for people to recruit for missions. Venator stuff," he mumbled as his eyes skimmed over several web pages. She nodded in response. They were both thinking about the fact that while they felt like time and space seemed to stop for them when they were together, that wasn't the case. They each fought back the things they both knew needed to be said, and she opted to ask: "Are we staying in tonight?"

He smirked at her because "staying in" sounded like a very couple-thing to do, "If you want to."

She thought it over, "I'm actually in the mood for pizza if you want to order in,"

"Force eating carbs," he mocked right before she pushed at his shoulder.

"Quiet, Martin" she murmured as she moved to stand behind him and rested a forearm on either side of his head. It was one of the moments they shared that made told Kingsley she really wasn't thinking about Jack when they were together—that they were the only people on her mind—or the only two she wanted to think about. He fought the urge to kiss her hand or recline back against her chest because he didn't want to do anything to shake her from the moment.

"I want to watch a movie. Are you partial to anything?"

He shook his head in response, "Whatever you want works for me."

She smiled because she loved that when he said "whatever you want" it didn't sound like the normally dismissive response men tended to give. He always made her feel like he was genuinely interested in what she wanted.

(Next Day)

Kingsley Martin had a plan when he went to pick her up from school. Sure the limousine was a bit cheesy and not exactly the type of flair Mimi typically enjoyed, but it sent a message. He hoped she would relate it back to all of those old romantic movies he knew she was secretly obsessed with.

There was something in the way she looked at him when she saw him waiting for her outside of the school, like she recognized the gesture for what it was when she followed him into the limo. He couldn't fight back the urge to kiss every inch of her until she ordered him to make love to her. But that didn't happen.

In spite of what he knew to be true—regardless of Jack being in the picture, he thought there was no way she would refuse the mission. Being a Venator, fighting, that was a part of Mimi's genetic make-up. He thought, or to be more precise: hoped, that she'd agree to go to Paris without hesitation. After all, this was Madeline Force—wasn't Paris her Mecca? But she'd said no, refused like he was crazy, and maybe she was right, maybe it was insane to be so mistakenly hopeful.

He walked into the lobby devoid of emotion, or so it seemed. On the inside, he was dying—he was sure of it, because surely this level of pain had to result in death. He told himself that it wouldn't end well—that he should have been happy with what he got—but he always wanted just a little bit more when it came to Madeline.

He didn't even realize when he'd walked into his apartment, or punched a hole into one of the walls. It was such a human reaction. He didn't know why he did it; compared to what he was already feeling—the pain in his hand was completely irrelevant.

What was he supposed to do? He dealt all the cards he had, and had nothing else to go with.

She was going to be bound to Jack, and after that there was nothing he could do.

It made him want to break something. Punch something until it hurt as bad as he did. Because Madeline Force reduced him to some melodramatic teenager. Because he was a fool.

When they were together it was so easy to forget that she wasn't really his; because she should have been. Abbadon didn't understand her, not really. She was a warrior, a challenge—but she was worth it—and they weren't even worthy of her. But at least he was sensible of this.

He leaned back against his door and sunk to the floor with his knees bent and draped his arms across them.

_Fuck Mimi Force_, he grimaced.

Then he thought about everything. The sense of humor he appreciated. The way she seemed to make even the most couture outfits seem effortless. Her confidence. The way she seemed so content to be with him. It was like he was made for her.

_Love Mimi Force_, he bit the inside of his cheek. He needed to try one more time, before he didn't have anymore chances left.


End file.
